13th February

"I can't believe you asked me about tomorrow in front of the guys!" she exclaims slapping his arm as they lie in a tangled mess on her couch. They've had a long day, but at least it was an easy close. Castle had caught onto their suspect almost straight away and between the four of them, they'd pulled enough evidence to arrest him. Lucky he was an easy break. They'd stopped for Remy's on the way home and he'd insisted on coming back with her, whispering against her cheek that he hadn't had a moment alone with her all day. She'd kindly pointed out there were no prying eyes now, they were off the clock, well – she was. He'd scoffed and said it wasn't the same and invited himself over, more cheesecake he'd insisted. Apparently this excuse would keep resurfacing.

"They would have given me a hard time if I hadn't!" he exclaims softly in return, passing her a forkful of the cake. They would give him a hard time about not asking, but have given her a hard time about him asking? It seems those two have all their bases covered.

"Pawn them off on me then?" She's trying to sound unhappy about it, but failing. He knows she can handle Ryan and Esposito, even dishing back a few jibs of her own.

"I said I had a hot date. You were the one who reacted. They both saw it too," he speaks softly. "You just assumed it wasn't Alexis I was talking about. Don't you remember the wedding? You did the same thing then," he says, his lips against her temple as he speaks.

He's right, she did. He'd used the same description too. She sighs, leans into his hold more, toying with the material of his shirt, tight against his shoulder but the seam, the corner is loose, an ideal distraction.

"Thought I'd blow you off?" he asks softly.

She sighs again, resigned. If this is going to work, with him, with them, she has to be honest, even if she doesn't explain everything he can't be kept in the dark. She could probably get away with lying about this though he wouldn't-

He lifts his thigh beneath her, moving her whole body, shifting her focus as he shifts her. That is most certainly his favourite trick. "You in there?" he asks, waving the fork in her line of sight, slowly so the cake doesn't drop onto his shirt, or hers.

"Yeah, I just…" She got lost in her own thoughts, he knows that. And from the slightly amused look on his face he doesn't mind and kind of enjoyed it. "It was only for a second." She hates how soft her voice is, how hard it still is to confess silly things to him. She needs to get over it though, she knows, she's sitting in his lap (granted he put her there) sharing a ridiculously large piece of cake (granted he did that too) in sweats and a baggy tee (he'd certainly offered to help her change). It is not a situation she would have imagined herself in a few days ago. Sure, she'd been leaning toward him, willing to give it a shot, but she hadn't expected it to be so easy, the transition was seamless – it had her thinking Lanie was right, they were good for each other. She just had to hope it stayed this easy, this laidback. Once Gates found out, once they told her, things could get messy. Sure, the woman had interrogated her after she started, assuming they were sleeping together, claiming no one could have their partnership and not be. It was prohibited, she knew that.

She swallows closes her eyes and kisses him, he's only just taken the fork from his mouth but she doesn't care. She won't lose him, not here and not there. She may have to jump through hoops for Gates, but she'll do it.

"There's no one else," he mutters as he pulls back, rests his forehead against her own again. "And there isn't going to be." He's certain and she's glad, she needs him to be certain.

She doesn't say anything just steals the fork and feeds herself a bite.

"The plan actually isn't what I told the boys," he confesses quietly after she swallows her bite, feeding him one as she chews.

"It's not?" She's curious now. He told them he was cooking for the mysterious redhead. She realises now there should have been jokes from the boys about the implications of a home cooked meal. She really had missed the mark on that once. But were there implications of a home cooked meal between them? They've done it before, eaten numerous times with the other, home cooked or not. Though grilled cheese barely counts as home cooked. So why would the plans change now she's been added to the equation? Sure publicly he'd offered for her to join, since she'd already said she had no plans. She hadn't been lying, there hadn't been plans. She had expected there to be though, how could his final surprise not involve the day itself?

"It's not." His voice snaps her out of her scattered thoughts, her attempts at guessing, at understanding. Why bother when the man himself is sitting here offering to share?

"So what is it?" She's playing coy, eating the cake while she watches him follow her mouth, the squirm of her lips as she chews and then the line of her throat as she swallows. He swallows too and she chuckles, watches his eyes flick to hers as he smiles with her. Then she licks her lips, slowly, deliberately.

"Alexis has a date."

She raises her eyebrows in response. "Who? She didn't mention it yesterday." She's excited for the girl, since Ashley there hasn't been anything too steady.

"You'll see tomorrow night. But first we're cooking you dinner," he kisses her cheek, interrupting himself, "then she's going for ice-cream with this kid. So…" He trails off, he kisses her again, snakes his hands further around her waist, touching his own elbows as he presses her body completely to hers, leaving her to save the plate on her lap and defenceless to his movements, his words, implications abound.

She swallows, they really shouldn't. Not yet. It's too soon.

"I am going to buy a chocolate cake," he whispers against her face and she arches her neck, moving away so she can eye him cautiously, suspicious, hopefully sending him a silent warning. But he continues, ignoring her response, already decided, his words chosen. "And curl up with you on my couch just like this." He shifts her again, impossibly close, and she has to laugh.

"Hmm," she hums once she's regained her breath, leaning over, closing the small gap to press her mouth to his. It sounds great and at least he's not implying anything or buying something else, no pressure, no large leaps. He understands, she supposes he must feel the same, take it slow and don't mess it up.

When she pulls back she nestles her head into his neck. He should go soon, she'll send him on his way, but right now she wants to lie with him for another minute, just close her eyes and enjoy the feeling of being against his body before she goes and sleeps next to that pillow with the divot. She feels him crane his neck to look down at her after a second. Then he kisses her temple and she expects him to move back, resettle his cheek against the top of her head, but he doesn't.

A prong of the fork touches her bottom lip, gentle prodding. She doesn't bother to open her eyes, just opens her mouth to let him feed her what has to be the last of the cake, if it's not the last she'll start refusing.

"I should go you're tired," he says against her hair, resettled like she expected before.

"In a minute," she mutters and shifts her nose to press her lips to his neck, once, soft, no hesitation.

It's half an hour before either move, she doesn't want to make him but she has to. She nodded off for a second, woken only by his fingers touching her ear, a disruption in his toying, the twisting and twirling. But she needed it. He doesn't fight her as she stands, covering her stomach with the shirt, ignoring the fact his hand has been touching the skin there for the past fifteen minutes. It doesn't matter. But he has to go, she'll see him tomorrow. She gets to do this again tomorrow, and for many days after it. It causes a twang in her stomach as she realises she could do this, with him, for her whole life.

But she shakes her head, jolts herself to the present, back to their slow pace and their unspoken understanding. She finds him in front of her, his fingers skimming the edges of her top, exploring the skin at her back as he hugs her close. Tomorrow she might find that the pace quickens a little, he steps over a small pile of the rubble surrounding them, pulling her out, closer to some open happy field, a blissful place where the wreckage is just visible on the horizon. It will take more than a few days, but he's here, he's waited. Now she's opening herself to him, letting him help her, distract her, heal her. Whatever he's doing specifically doesn't matter, he's here. And he's staying judging by the way his fingers are dancing across her spine, teasing, testing boundaries, pushing limits, but being respectful, understanding, caring, honest. Then he kisses her once and he's gone, headed to the door.

She can't stop smiling as she heads to bed, her head swimming from his words, her skin tingling from his fingers, her mouth still tasting him there, still tasting the cake. Getting up and going to work is going to be difficult, being so close but so far away. At least she has tomorrow night to look forward to, but that will make it harder, so much harder.